


Patchwork

by everytimeyougo



Category: The Good Wife (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-18
Updated: 2017-12-09
Packaged: 2018-01-25 14:15:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 8,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1651604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/everytimeyougo/pseuds/everytimeyougo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of Kurt/Diane ficlets</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> What follows will be a group of untitled Kurt/Diane ficlets too short to stand on their own. They are in no particular order and while I think they are mostly canon compliant, they do not necessarily exist in the same universe. Most were written in response to prompts on Tumbr, so thanks to anyone who submitted a prompt.

"This is a joke, right?" Kurt waves the heavy ivory cardstock in Diane's general direction. "You're not seriously thinking of going to this…event…are you?"

She sets her coffee cup down on the table and walks over to the desk where Kurt has been sorting through the mail. Removing the RSVP card from between his two fingertips, where he's been holding it like it might contaminate something, she taps the ornate script with her fingernail. "I'm seriously thinking _we're_ going to it, yes. You see here, where I requested two roast beef meals?"

"Nuh-uh." He shakes his head and snatches the card back, tossing it in the wastebasket beside the desk.

"What, you wanted the salmon?"

"No, Diane. No way am I going to that psychopath's wedding."

"Kurt, do you know how much that psychopath spends in legal fees every year? I'm not going to offend him just when some of that money is starting to trickle back to my firm. Not to mention, it's generally just a bad idea to offend psychopaths."

"Is that supposed to be funny?"

"I thought it was a little funny, yes."

Carefully keeping a straight face, she watches him watching her, until he groans and bends down to retrieve the card from the bottom of the wastebasket.

"I can't talk you out of this?" he asks, pointing the card at her.

She shakes her head.

"And if I refuse to go."

"Then I'll go by myself. And I'll have no handy reason to refuse the groom when he asks for a dance."

His eyes narrow. "That's blackmail."

"Yes, it is. Come on," she adds, stepping closer and wrapping her arms around his waist, "It'll be fun. There'll be so many people there, we probably won't even see the happy couple for more than a minute or so. We'll eat, have some wine, maybe dance a bit, and come home. Just like a date, only someone else will foot the bill."

He rolls his eyes, but returns her embrace. "The roast beef is fine."

"Thank you." Kissing him quickly on the lips, she drops her arms and walks over to the stairs. "Oh, and you know, Sweeney has friends with some very interesting…ah…practices. Maybe we can pick up some tips."

She laughs when his eyes widen and his jaw drops. "Tips?" she hears him repeat as she proceeds up the stairs.


	2. Chapter 2

The room is soft, unfocused, the candlelight illuminating it to just the comfortable side of darkness. Her glasses have disappeared somewhere and without them the flickering flames seem like miniature shooting stars. She's had just enough wine, though by tomorrow she may say too much. Tomorrow seems a long way off right now.

The beginnings of something slow and jazzy penetrates her pleasant fog just before he slides in beside her on the couch. Breathing deeply of his cologne, she snuggles up against his chest as his arm comes around her shoulder.

For a moment he just holds her there and she concentrates on the feel of his chest rising and falling, the worn cotton of his t-shirt soft against her cheek. But then his hand slides up her arm and glides through her hair, starting at her temple and ending at the nape of her neck. She shivers, then smiles, her eyes drifting closed as he repeats the motion.

"Mmmmm, that's nice." She's not even sure she's said it aloud until he responds.

"You sound like a cat." His fingers continue their pattern, pausing every second or third stroke to trace the side of her ear.

"I feel a bit like one, too."

"A sleepy cat?"

"Getting less sleepy by the moment."

A low chuckle. "Good."

Shifting position, she sits lazily up and cups his face with one hand, running her thumb along his chin, then sliding her fingers into his hair and leaning in to touch her lips to his.

He takes the invitation for what it is and deepens the kiss, his hand sliding down her back to her hip and pulling until she rises and settles onto his lap.

They kiss, just kiss, for a long time, her arms about his shoulders, one of his hands still at her hip, the other in her hair. The wine, the jazz, the lighting, and most of all, the man, have all come together in such a perfect way tonight, she feels like she might float away on a cloud of pleasure. She could kiss him forever and never want for another thing.

But then his hand leaves her hair and slides down to her other hip, pulling her firmly against him, and suddenly all she has is not enough. Groaning from the feel of him beneath her, she twists closer still. She needs more.

Breaking their kiss, he lifts his head, eyes shining partly with amusement, partly with something more basic. "Awake now?"

She doesn't answer, just stands and circles the room, blowing out candles. She can feel his eyes on her the whole way around and even when she extinguishes the last flame and room is completely dark, she knows he's still watching. Her whole body tingles with anticipation as she walks back to stand in front of the couch.

She can barely see him as he stands to meet her, his arms sliding around her waist as he pulls her to him almost roughly, his need on par with her own. Her hands rise to his face, his beard coarse against her palms and they kiss again.

"Jesus, Diane," he mumbles against her mouth, his hands moving down to her ass. Whatever the rest of the sentence was to be falls away in a stream of half-articulated curses as she grinds against him.

She breaks the kiss then and rests her forehead against his. Her vision has adjusted somewhat to the dark and she can see him watching her with half-closed eyes. Reaching behind herself, she slides her hands under his and laces their fingers together. Her lips quirk into a smile. "Ready for bed?" she asks.


	3. Chapter 3

It's generally understood in Kurt and Diane's marriage, that political rallies and events are not something they do as a couple. It's one thing for them to spiritedly, but respectfully, argue their positions at home over a bottle of wine, or even to be on opposite sides of a lively group discussion, but it would be quite another to expect one spouse to sit quietly through an entire event, the lone dissenter in a room full of like minds. Therefore, whenever anything political comes up that one of them wants to attend, they go alone or with friends.

So when it happened one day that Kurt jokingly asked Diane if she wanted to come with him to hear Sarah Palin speak, it surprised them both when she said yes. It was partly morbid curiosity; she never could understand what it was her otherwise intelligent and thoughtful husband saw in that woman. But she had to admit, it was partly sentimental as well. After all, Palin had unknowingly been the icebreaker that helped bring them together back when they first met.

The afternoon of the event, Diane promised to behave herself and let him listen to the speech without constant interruptions, and in turn, Kurt promised to listen to her rant the whole drive home. That decided, they entered the lecture hall and took their seats, just as Mrs. Palin took the podium.

Diane was true to her word, and kept her comments to herself, though there were times she thought her head might explode from the effort. Seventy-three years later, when the speech was finally over, she stood to leave, still none-the-wiser as to why her husband was such a Palin fan, and completely over any lingering sentimentality she held for the woman.

"You want to meet her?" Kurt asked as he stood and stretched in place.

"You're joking, right?" she said, as picked up her coat from the back of her seat.

"Yes." He smirked, and took her coat from her and held it out for her to slide into. "You've been tortured enough. Come on, you can yell at me in the truck."


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was in response to an anonymous prompt on Tumblr asking me to describe the best day Kurt and Diane had spent together as a married couple.

Well, I asked them this question for you, anon, and I was expecting to get two completely different answers, since they often have very different ideas of what constitutes fun. But instead of each of them launching into separate stories, Kurt just kind of slouched back in his seat, crossed his arms, and looked over at Diane with that adorable smile of his, the one where only half his moustache goes up. And after Diane returned his look, she turned away quickly, lips pressed tightly together as if she was trying hard not to laugh. I think she might have been blushing.

And I was like, "Guys, maybe this isn't a story you really want to share with Tumblr."

But Diane was like, "No, no, it's okay.'"

And Kurt just snorted and gestured for her to go ahead.

So she started to tell me about this one time when they were out at the farm for the weekend.

"We had been married a little over two weeks," she began, glancing at Kurt again. He winked at her and she seemed to lose her train of thought for a moment, but then she blinked a couple of times, shook her head, and continued. "And it was really the first opportunity we had to spend any downtime together as a married couple. As you know, my professional life imploded right after our wedding and I was working almost around the clock for a good while after that."

"Even when she was home, she wasn't much fun," Kurt added.

"Anyway," she continued, pausing to glare at him, "after a couple of weeks of that, I was rather forcefully convinced that I needed a break and we decided it was as good a time as any to move some of my things out to the farm. So we packed up the truck and drove down one Saturday morning. It was a beautiful fall day, the sun was shining, and…and we stopped at that little place with the all the pumpkins for breakfast, remember Kurt?"

"Mary's," he said. "Best blueberry pancakes in the world."

"Yes. We should go back there sometime."

"Could go this weekend," he suggested.

"Mmm," she agreed. "Oh, I'm sorry," she said, looking back to me. "I forget what I was saying. Oh yes, we stopped for breakfast, and picked up a couple of pumpkins because it was almost Halloween, and then we went to Kurt's farm."

"Our farm," he interjected.

"Our farm," she amended, reaching over to take his hand. "When we got there, we unpacked the truck and then we went for a little walk around the property. It's really very beautiful. And we went to visit the horses. Kurt says he's going to teach me to ride when the weather is better. I'm not sure that's a good idea, but we'll see."

"You'll love it," he assured her.

"If I don't fall and break my neck, I just might," she said, laughing. "And then we went for a tour of the lab. I'd been in there before, of course, but I didn't really know what all the equipment was for."

"You still don't," he pointed out, tugging her a little closer, with a smirk that made it clear there was much more to that story.

"Well no. We got a little bit distracted while we were in there," she explained, though she was looking at him and not at me.

Kurt leaned over and whispered something in her ear. I don't know what he said, but she laughed, and tried to pull her hand back, but he wouldn't let her go. And there was that blush again.

That's when I cleared my throat and announced it was probably time I was going. I don't think they heard me though, so I just got up and let myself out.

So, anon, I hope you're not too disappointed that I didn't get the whole story of their best day together, but I did the best I could. It's hard to talk to newlyweds sometimes!


	5. Chapter 5

It had been that kind of week. Kurt and Diane had kissed goodbye Monday morning, expecting to be home together that evening, but as always seems to happen, one catastrophe led to another, and before they knew it, it was Friday and they'd spent yet another week apart. No matter how many times they said it wouldn't happen again, they'd try harder the next time, make their marriage a priority, some client, some crisis, some force majeure always seemed to dash their good intentions.

The plan had been for Diane to drive out the farm after work Friday evening, but then the defendant in a test case for a class action she's working on agreed to settlement talks. When, at 9:00 pm, they're still making slow progress, she ducks out to phone Kurt.

"I don't know how long this is going to take. I could be here half the night. I'll come out first thing in the morning, and make you breakfast, I promise. Ha-ha, very funny, Kurt. Yes, I know where the fire extinguisher is. You know, I did manage to feed myself for many years before I met you. Okay. Good night, I love you too. Bye. "

She curses softly as she hangs up the phone. He had tried to hide it, but he's disappointed. So is she, honestly. Why is it always something?

To Diane's immense surprise, the other side settles almost immediately after the break. She doesn't know what happened, what new information they had acquired in the short time she was on the phone, but she'll put Kalinda on it first thing Monday. There is still the class action settlement to negotiate next week.

In the meantime, she has somewhere to be.

An hour later, she pulls into the driveway at the farm. Parking her car beside Kurt's truck, she gets out and glances from house, to barn, and back. There are no lit windows anywhere, so she walks to the house and lets herself in. Kurt probably went to bed shortly after their phone call. He wouldn't have thought there any reason to wait up, and he's normally asleep by ten when left to his own devices.

She hangs her coat in the closet and goes directly to the kitchen for a glass of water. The room is as tidy and spotless as always; the only thing out of place is an unopened bottle of wine and two glasses sitting on the counter by the sink.

"Damn," she swears. He'd been planning something and she, once again, had spoiled it.

Except, she thinks, brightening, maybe it isn't too late. He can't have been asleep that long, and she knows her husband. He doesn't mind being woken for a good cause.

She sets her water glass in the sink and goes into the adjoining laundry room.Please let them still be there, she wishes silently.

And they are. Hanging on a drying rack are several pieces of lingerie she'd hand washed last weekend and left to dry. Snatching up a short, silky, black slip from the rack, she takes it to the bathroom to change.

After checking the results in the mirror and finding herself passable, she steps back into her black heels, messes her hair a bit, detours to the kitchen to grab the wine and glasses, and creeps silently up the stairs.

In the hall outside their closed bedroom door, she flicks on the light in the room opposite to provide a bit of backlighting, then eases open the door.

The creak of the door and the sudden influx of light rouses Kurt, and she watches as he rubs his eyes and then rises up on one elbow. His jaw drops open when he sees her standing there.

"Hi honey," she says. "I'm home."


	6. Chapter 6

Kurt and Diane had never gotten around to having a proper honeymoon. Before the wedding, she'd been hesitant to leave town before her judgeship was confirmed. And with everything that happened after the wedding, it was just out of the question. Kurt had given up asking about it, until one day out of the blue, Diane suggested a vacation for their first anniversary.

They spent several evenings on the couch, Kurt slouched in the corner, Diane with her back up against his side, his arm around her shoulder, and a laptop on her outstretched legs, surfing travel sites and playfully arguing about where they should go.

Kurt, of course, angled for Costa Rica.

("What is this obsession you have with that place?")

While Diane was not necessarily opposed, she didn't think it would hurt anything to look at other options before booking tickets.

Kurt vetoed New York immediately.

("So you could work the whole time? Forget it.")

Diane stared, then laughed when he suggested big game hunting.

("You're joking, right?")

He was.

Rome emerged as a strong contender, providing art and fashion for Diane, history for Kurt, and plenty of romance for both of them. It seemed to be a done deal, until Kurt casually mentioned how it's too bad Diane had already been there. It would have been nice to experience something new together for their first anniversary.

Diane paused with the cursor hovering over the button which would have purchased their tickets and tilted her head back against his chest to look at him.

"Is that important to you?" she asked.

He leaned forward and kissed her temple. "Nah, not so important."

On the day of their first anniversary, they boarded a plane to Costa Rica.


	7. Chapter 7

They'd been married only a couple of weeks when the first big post-wedding social obligation appeared on their shared Google calendar.

(Kurt was quick to point out that he did not have social obligations, big or small. "You do now," Diane replied, giving him a quick peck on lips to soften the blow.)

After she explained that the event was a fundraiser for a local battered women's shelter and that she had been involved in the planning for most of the past year, he could hardly continue to refuse. At least it was supporting a cause they could both agree on.

So he put on a tux, and judging by the glint in Diane's eye when she saw him, he didn't look like too much of an idiot. He suspected he had the same kind of look in his own eyes when she emerged from the bedroom in her long, red, form-fitting gown. His wife was a truly stunning woman. He still didn't understand how he'd gotten so lucky.

It was hard to say who was more surprised when the first person he encountered after entering the ballroom was a colleague from the university. Mary Jane Reyes was a lecturer in forensic biology, a petite, fortyish brunette with whom he'd shared an occasional cup of coffee the last time he had a course in session.

"Kurt McVeigh!" she exclaimed, stopping two feet in front of him, hands on her hips. "What in god's name are you doing here?"

He shrugged. "It's a good cause."

"It is," she agreed. "But I would never have pegged you as a charity ball kind of guy."

Before he could respond, Diane appeared at his side with two glasses of champagne in hand. He accepted one and then slipped an arm around her waist.

"Mary Jane, this is my wife, Diane. She helped put this all together. Diane, this is Mary Jane Reyes. She teaches at the university."

The two women exchanged polite greetings and he was surprised when Mary Jane then abruptly walked off.

Puzzled, he turned to Diane. "Was it something I said?"

She laughed. "Yes, dear. I think it was when you said 'wife'."

He looked from her, to the spot when Mary Jane had stood, and back to her. "Really?"

Diane could only nod.

"Well," he said, pulling her closer. "People are just going to have to get used to that, because I like the way it sounds."


	8. Chapter 8

Kurt first realised he was in love with Diane smack in the middle of his testimony in the Jason Beltran suit. Even now, years later, he can't say for certain what triggered it, but he knew, suddenly and without doubt, that he was looking at the woman with whom he wanted to spend the rest of his life. He was devastated when she said no to Costa Rica, though he realised he had only himself to blame. He was the one who stopped calling nearly a year prior. Who knew where they might be had he not been such a damned coward.

Then, when she showed up unexpectedly at his door a year later, he was surprised to find all his feelings for her were still there in full force, hidden just below the surface. And when she quietly backed out of his life again a short time later, he decided that was it for him and Diane Lockhart. He would not be doing that dance again.

Wrong again, McVeigh. All she had to do was say please.

And so they face off in front of her closed office door, irresistible force meeting immoveable object.

"I don't want to wait. I don't." She's agitated, almost aggressive, and he doesn't understand where any of this is coming from.

"And then what?" he asks.

She opens her mouth, closes it again, and he can almost see her confidence beginning to wither away.

"Diane," he says gently, reaching out to touch her arm. "What is this? What's this really about? Your father? Your judgeship? Giving up your firm? Because it's sure as hell not about what getting married is supposed to be about. You don't love me."

She takes a step back, looking like he's slapped her. His hand falls back to his side.

"You think I don't love you?" she whispers.

"I think you're…fond…of me. You're attracted to me. But Diane, I was ready to marry you two years ago. I wanted to spend my life with you, and you weren't interested. Before the other night, you'd never given me any reason to think you changed your mind."

"You think I don't love you?" she repeats, her voice steadier now, her head tilting slightly to one side.

He's getting a little confused. This shouldn't be news to her. "I…no. I mean, you've never said…"

"You think I'm fond of you?" She's laughing now.

"This is funny?"

"Yes!" She covers her mouth with her hand, muffling one last burst of laughter before she continues. "Actually, no. It's not funny. It's absurd."

She steps forward and places one hand on either side of his face. "Kurt, just so we're clear: I. Love. You. I love you. I always have. Whatever problems we've had, whatever the reasons were for us not being together, it was never a lack of love. A lack of courage, most likely, mixed with a side of inertia. But never a lack of love, at least not on my part. I love you."

And with that, she pulls his head down and kisses him. Mindless of the glass walls, he wraps his arms around her and kisses her back softly, gently, amazed at the turn the conversation had taken.

"Dear lord, we're bad at this," she says when they part.

He laughs and runs his hands up and down her arms. "Yep."

"So…" She's grinning at him, waiting for his capitulation, which of course she gets.

"So, do you have time to have dinner with your fiancé?" he asks, still not letting her go.

She nods. "Yes. Come back for me in half an hour."

"Okay." He kisses her one more time, softly on the lips, and then just before he drops his arms, he says quietly into her ear, "I love you too."


	9. Chapter 9

_And when the night is cloudy_   
_There is still a light that shines on me_   
_Shine on until tomorrow, let it be_

Singing softly, Diane rocks her small charge until the baby's eyes close and she shifts in her arms, mouth opening slightly in a milky sigh.

"Looks good on you," Kurt says from the doorway of her office.

"Oh," she says, looking up. "I'm sorry, Kurt. I can't leave yet. Her mother is in a deposition with Will. Somehow I was elected babysitter." She rolls her eyes, faux put-upon, but really this tiny girl is welcome to sleep in her arms as long as she wants, even if it means missing dinner with her husband.

But he only shrugs, joining them on the couch. "No rush. Like I said, this is a pretty picture." He's often wondered what might have happened had they met sooner, before a family was out of the question.

"You know," she says, looking down in the face of the sleeping infant. "I don't regret not being a mother. I wouldn't have been a good one. Don't," she says, anticipating his objection before his mouth even opens. "You didn't know me when I was still young enough for all that. You think I work too much now… Back then, when Jonas and I were building the firm, I slept three hours a night, barely ate, didn't have time for relationships, and Kurt, I loved every minute of it. I would have resented anything and anyone that interfered with that life."

The baby yawns, her small face contorting and her arm coming up to rub her eyes with a tiny fist. Both adults hold their breath until she stills again.

"I don't regret my choices," she continues, her voice barely above a whisper, "but sitting here, I've realized I am sad about one unforeseen consequence of them. Because I'm no one's mother, I'll never be anyone's Grandma. And I think that's a job I could've really been good at."

She looks over to him and he nods. "You would've been." He slides closer, puts his arm around her, and together they watch the baby sleep, thinking about what might have been.


	10. Chapter 10

The long stressful day, the wine, the warmth of Kurt’s hands on her skin, and the building desire in their kiss have all served to scatter her thoughts like confetti in the wind, blowing around in circles. Or maybe like rice, tossed in the air outside a church.  _We should get married._  God, what a fool, she is. Where the thought had come from, she doesn’t know. It had simply sprung from her lips, fully-formed, without forethought or permission.

Though now that she’s said it…it could work, couldn’t it? They could be something real, couldn’t they, if they tried this time, really tried instead of running away?

Kurt shifts beside her, his hand sliding along her waist and down over her hip, distracting her from her introspection. She hums against his lips, and his grip on her tightens, pulling her closer.

It would be easy to let tonight follow the usual path of dinner, drinks and emotionally-charged sex, then an awkward parting, a phone call or two over the next couple of days, and then…nothing…until the next time. Or, not nothing exactly, at least not on her part. There would be daydreams, and half-dialed phone calls, and vicious self-recriminations about why can she not  _just get over herself already_  and stop denying what’s right in front of her eyes.

She's in love with him,  _clearly_ , and she has no idea where he's even been for the last year, not since the last phone call of the last cycle. The entire sum of their interactions tonight have been about her - her work, her future, her family, her  _issues_. What about him? That seems as good a place to start as any in this reckless attempt at redefinition.

She pulls back abruptly, breaking their kiss. “What’s new with you?" she asks. It comes out breathless and rushed and he looks at her askance, half-smiles and shakes his head, moving in to kiss her again.

“No, really,” she insists, fingers against his lips to stop him. “I’m being serious.”

He regards her contemplatively for long seconds, sighs, and straightens up. “What do you want to know?”

“Are you still teaching?” It’s the first question to pop into her head, but she finds she really is interested in the answer. It’s a fact that had somehow escaped her over the first couple of years of their acquaintance and she can’t help but wonder about all the other things she doesn’t know about him. They had never been much for conversation.

He picks up his drink from where he’d wedged it in the corner of the couch and downs the remainder, setting the empty glass on the table before he answers.

“Two sections this semester. Just about done now.”

“Do you enjoy teaching?”

“Do I enjoy…Diane, do you really want to talk about this _now_?” He slides a hand around to cup her breast, thumb brushing her nipple through her dress.

She inhales sharply as a jolt of electricity shoots through her, attempting to fling her thoughts into the wind once again. “Kurt,” she begins, hoping to explain, to make him understand - _I want to know you_ \- but his thumb is still moving and he’s smiling that sexy half smile that gets her every time and suddenly talking doesn’t seem that important anymore.

And maybe they’ve got the rest of their lives. She hopes so.

 


	11. Chapter 11

"Do you ever think we should just stop doing this?" The question falls from your lips in the dark, awkward moments between your return to normal breathing and one of you slowly rising and gathering up discarded clothing.

Tonight you’re in his hotel room, so it’s you who must leave, not because he’s ever been anything but welcoming, but because your own rules don’t allow for such casual intimacies as sharing a pillow or cup of coffee before work the next morning.

Relationships aren’t something you’ve ever known what to do with.

His hand, lightly stroking the side of your naked thigh, stills at the question.

“Stop doing this?” he repeats, as if the thought had never occurred to him. Probably, it never had. “Why?”

Why, indeed. You’d been restless all evening, indecisive, your analytical mind flinging questions at you from every direction. Change is constant; nothing ever stays just the same. Relationships must evolve, deepen. Or…devolve.

End.

You feel on a precipice of something, but whether it’s a beginning or an ending, you’ve never really been able to tell.

“Everything ends sometime,” you suggest.

He doesn’t reply, which you take as confirmation of the truth in your words. People don’t get to be alone at your age, or his, without a few battle scars.

The silence lingers on, and when it’s clear there will be no conversation tonight, you rise and his hand falls to the sheet. You don’t know if you’re relieved or disappointed.

Dressing quickly, a nervous striptease in reverse, you run your fingers through your hair and fix your lipstick for the dubious benefit of hotel’s night clerk.

“Diane,” he says finally, as you slip into your heels. “You don’t have to go. Stay.”

But if he really meant it, wouldn’t he have spoken up before now? You could go on for hours like this, hypothesizing, second guessing, twisting his words into what you want to hear, or often, what you don’t.

You shake your head, murmur something about an early meeting, and lean over to kiss him lightly on the lips. “I’ll call you,” you offer, and probably you will. This time, but decisions must be made soon because you’re in almost too deep already.

He doesn’t speak again until you’re halfway in the hall. “No, I don’t think we should stop.”

You pause briefly, then shut the door behind you.


	12. Chapter 12

“Diane, is there something you want to tell me?” Kurt asked,slipping up behind her in the kitchen. No one but his wife would have noticed the supressed amusement in his voice, but she certainly did.

“Ha!” she exclaimed, knowing exactly what he was getting at. She closed the drawer abruptly. “Nope.”

“Maybe something that starts with ‘You were’ and ends with something that rhymes with ‘night’?”

“Drop it, McVeigh,” she advised affably, opening the next drawer down and rummaging through it, eventually pulling out a corkscrew with a triumphant flourish. Turning on her heel, she grabbed the bottle of wine from the counter and tried to rejoin their guests in the living room.

“Not so fast,” he said, stretching one arm out to block the doorway, and wrapping the other around her waist, pulling her to him. He buried his face in her neck as she stood there fidgeting impatiently, but not attempting escape.

“You’re having fun,” he accused, he voice muffled by her hair. “Admit it. You like them.”

“I most certainly do not. I’m just being nice for your sake.”

“Right. I think you forgot I was even in the room for a good half hour or so.”

He had her there, but she wasn’t about to admit to having so much fun arguing with his ballistics students, that she had actually forgotten how much she’d been dreading tonight.

“I could never forget you were in the room,” she hedged, switching the corkscrew to the same hand as the wine, and then sliding her free hand up his back to tangle in his slightly-too-long hair. She pressed her body more closely against his and grinned in satisfaction at his audible groan.

“Maybe it’s time to wrap this party up,” he suggested, his own hands moving lower.

“Hmm,” she said. “I would. But like you said, I’m having fun.” And with that, she twisted out of his arms and headed back to the living room, leaving him shaking his head, a bemused half-smile on his lips. Maybe being right wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.


	13. Chapter 13

“So…was it worth it?” Kalinda asks, her voice low and tinged with amusement as they step off the elevator and into the Lockhart-Gardner reception area.

“Worth the humiliation of having my sex life discussed in open court?” Diane replies, trying to contain a smile even as her cheeks flame red.

Kalinda nods, not even attempting to supress her own grin.

She pauses, as if in consideration, but there really is only one answer. “Oh yeah.”

A throat clears from somewhere behind her and she turns to discover Kurt slouching against the wall by the reception desk. “Hey,” he greets her with a slight nod.

“Oh. Hello. How long have you been standing there?” she asks, delight at his presence warring with embarrassment over what he has probably just overheard.

“Long enough,” he says with a little smirk that tells her he most certainly has overheard. “Got a minute?” he asks.

“Of course,” she says, nodding to Kalinda, who quickly disappears. “Come to my office.”

His hand grazes her elbow as they walk and he tips his head close to hers.

“So what, specifically,” he asks quietly, “made it worth it? So I can be sure to do it again.”


	14. Chapter 14

Closing the door behind them, she turns back to find Kurt shrugging out of his coat. “Well, this is where I live,” she announces inanely, nerves suddenly jangling, despite several glasses of wine at dinner.

He raises an amused eyebrow, but doesn’t offer any comment as he steps further into the entryway. She lingers behind, back against the door and hand still resting on the knob as she looks around her home, trying to see it through his eyes. His farmhouse, warm, sturdy, and masculine, is a reflection of him. Will he see something of her in these rooms, in her art and her books? Will he see the care she put into choosing each piece of furniture, each colour, each texture? Or will he see only the surface and think her frivolous or vain: a Highland Park liberal, as she was recently accused.

“Nice,” he says simply, nodding as he glances around.

Sometimes, she overthinks things.

“Thank you,” she says lightly, stepping away from the door and pulling his coat from his arm. Briefly, she contemplates hanging it in the coat closet, then lays it across the arm of a chair in the entry. Closets are for coats that are staying awhile and she doesn’t want to presume, or maybe she doesn’t want to invite. This is her sanctuary and him, here, is unexpected.

Fishing had been pleasant but when weeks passed without a word, she’d shrugged and once again filed him away under  _maybe someday._ Until today, a chance meeting on a busy day, almost literally running into each other in the courthouse hallway. He’d lobbed a tentative dinner invitation and she accepted because, really, why wouldn’t she? Is  _someday_  today? Probably not, but here he is, and she’s glad for it even as she wonders what the hell she’s doing.

“Can I get you a drink?”

At his nod, she directs him to her study and retreats to the kitchen for glasses, a bottle of Glenlivet single malt, and a moment to breathe. Not bothering to turn on a light, she stands in front of the kitchen sink, staring out the window at the lights of the city. She has a lovely view from here on the top of the hill, or so she’s always thought. Now she thinks maybe the stars she can see from his kitchen window have her pretty city lights beat all to hell.

It doesn’t startle her when his hands land on her hips, then slide around her waist as he presses up against her. She could see his reflection approaching in the window. His breath stirs her hair as he speaks. “Nice view.”

“You don’t really think so,” she says indifferently.

“I wasn’t talking about the window.”

Their matching grins reflect back at her from the window.

When she turns in his arms, his hands slide easily along her hips as she moves. “Is that so?” she asks, her own arms rising to wrap around his shoulders.

He doesn’t answer, not with words, but his kiss tells her all she needs to know.


	15. Chapter 15

“Can’t you just sit still?”

“Pardon?” Diane looks up from her phone, unaware of moving at all until her husband glances pointedly at her swinging foot, one red-soled black pump dangling precariously from her nylon-clad toes.

Rolling her eyes, she bends over to fix her shoe, then re-crosses her legs in the opposite direction, tugging absently at the hem of her skirt as she watches Kurt vigorously backspacing at his computer across from her.

“Problem?” she asks, setting her phone down on his desk.

“Yes, you’re distracting me,” he growls, abandoning his keyboard to flip though his notes.

“I’m just sitting here. How am I… _”_  she begins, her voice trailing off as Kurt’s eyes fly from his work and snap onto hers. After a second, he deliberately drops his eyes from her face to slide down her body, pausing the neckline at her silky blouse, then proceeding leisurely down to the long expanse of thigh and shapely calf exposed by her skirt, and ending up at her rebellious shoe, which has once again become separated from her heel to dangle from the tip of her toes.

A smile spreads slowly across her face. Knowingly, she shifts in her seat, wiggling her toes to allow her shoe to fall to the floor, exposing her bright red pedicure. “I’m sorry dear, I’ll try to be less…distracting.”

“Hrmph,” he replies, eyes flicking once again to her legs, before returning to his work.

She chuckles to herself, then shakes her head and stands. Retrieving her shoe, she proceeds to the door, knowing he’ll be more fun later if she gives him time to finish up his work. A quick glance over her shoulder when she reaches the door confirms he’s watching. “Don’t be too long,” she suggests, letting the screen door bang closed behind her.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What if she went to Costa Rica?

She’s lived in this house, spent her nights in this room, for nearly five weeks now, and still she feels lost after dark. The furniture, lovely in the light of day, merges with the shadows cast by the moon to form unfamiliar shapes and odd patches of impenetrable darkness - black holes set on consuming the Spanish tiled floor.

Hours spent staring up at the ceiling fan slowly whirling in the dark have served neither to calm her mind nor to solve her dilemma. She needs some air. Carefully, Diane eases the sheet back and slides her bare legs off the edge of the bed. The tile is cool under the soles of her feet despite the humidity that hangs in the air, even now, long past midnight.

Her nightgown drifts around her knees as she stands; one thin strap falls unnoticed from her shoulder.

On the other side of  bed, Kurt stirs, his arm curling up over his head as he turns his face into the pillow, but his breathing maintains the gentle rhythm of sleep. The one thin sheet they’ve been sharing is bunched around his waist and one bare foot hangs over the edge of the bed.

Involuntarily, she swallows. She wants to tangle her fingers in the hair curling over his bare chest, wants to lick the salty skin of his biceps. Still, despite her unrest and indecision, she wants him, craves him like a drug, and it’s that need, as much as any desire not to hurt him, that has kept her here this long.

With a concerted effort of will, she turns her back on him.

Padding barefoot, she crosses the room to the french doors of the balcony. It’s a beautiful home, this place he’s rented for the duration of their stay, but its elegance makes her uncomfortable. She has the feeling, unconfirmed, that Kurt upgraded his living quarters significantly when she agreed to accompany him on this six month teaching exchange. This house is her; it’s not him, not at all. The thought of leaving him here alone among the art and high-end furnishings is horrifying, almost as horrifying as the thought of staying.

The doors are open; the sheer drapes dancing in the light breeze coming up off the water. She glides her way through and walks to the edge of the balcony, her hands falling to the rail, fingers gripping lightly. By day it’s beautiful here: the smells, the sounds, the sights, all so stunning and all so unfamiliar. She has never seen water this blue, foliage this green. Not even at Kurt’s precious farm is nature so...intense. She can see why he loves it. She would love it too, for the duration of a two week vacation, a brief interlude away from her real life, and not a replacement.

Now though, at night with all that wild beauty obscured, the landscape feels alien, like she’s been dropped onto the surface of some strange planet, light years away from everything she knows and loves. Everything, but one unforgettable man, and by god she’s trying to make that feel like enough.

Every day that passes, she feels herself shrinking, drawing further and further into herself. He seems not to notice, but she recognises this blindness to her feelings as willful, as if by refusing to acknowledge her internal conflict, he can somehow remedy it. And he tries, oh but he tries, filling every moment he isn’t teaching with tours of the rainforest, walks on the beach, trips into San Jose for theatre, and concerts and fine dining. See, he says without saying, you can be happy here; you can be happy here with me.

Today she found a pamphlet left lying enticingly on the coffee table, an advertisement  for a free legal clinic, and she almost cried when she saw it, because _she should want this,_ this life with the man she probably loves, doing things that matter. What is wrong with her that she misses the craziness of the city, the backstabbing of the firm, the ridiculous politics and demanding clients and insane hours that all blend together into day after day of running on adrenaline and righteous indignation?

She misses her office, her partner, her home. What had sounded like the perfect escape from the nonstop stress of her professional life has turned into a prison, only the bars here are all of her own making: her inability to hurt someone who deserves so much better that what she’s giving. Or, when she’s feeling particularly self-aware: her inability to admit she’s made a horrible mistake.

“Diane?” His voice, still gruff with sleep, is bemused. “What are you doing out here?” His arms slide around her waist from behind.

She jumps at his sudden appearance, but then peace settles over her almost immediately when she leans back against him, breathing deeply of the earthy scent of his skin. It’s always like this with them, had been right from the start. When they’re together, connected in some way, they’re two halves of a whole and she _knows_ she can be happy, here wrapped up in his arms, forever. If only they never had to do anything else.

“I couldn’t sleep,” she answers simply, lifting her hands to cover his. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“You didn’t,” he says into the nape of her neck. She shivers at the brush of his moustache against her skin. “Come back to bed.”

She should refuse, should suggest they sit down, talk things through here in the dark where she doesn’t have to see the pain sure to appear in his eyes. But instead she allows him to take her hand and lead her back inside, knowing that if she won’t be sleeping in the immediate future, she won’t be thinking either.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post-finale courtroom scene angst ahead

She doesn’t know how long she’s been sitting there, crumpled up like a discarded overcoat on the small loveseat in her bedroom. The lengthening shadows on the wall suggest it's been hours. The amount of scotch remaining in the bottle on the table beside her concurs.

The house is silent, save for the clink of her wedding ring against her glass, as regular and rhythmic as a metronome. She watches her finger move as if it belongs to someone else, then abruptly downs the drink and reaches again for the bottle.

Her glass refilled, she folds back up and rests her cheek against the smooth upholstery, wishing she could sleep, wishing she could fall into some soothing oblivion where the horror of the day could no longer reach her . But every time she tries, all she can see is his face, silent and unfathomably frozen at the very moment it should have come to life with indignant denial.

_It was true. How could it be true?_

Hot tears fall from her cheeks to dot her white silk blouse.

Downstairs, the front door opens, then closes and only then does she realise she’s been waiting for the sound. Idly, she considers going into the bathroom and locking the door, but hiding away has never been her. The scotch burns in her belly, mimicking the tears still on her face.

_If you lie to me, it’s over._

She hears his footsteps on the stairs.

_It’s over already._

They’re heavy, slow - the steps of a man condemned.

_Go away. Just go away._

The footsteps stop just outside the bedroom. She can hear him breathing behind the partially closed door.

_I love you._

She closes her eyes.

“Diane.”

When she opens them again, he’s standing before her, as expressionless as always, his eyes tired and bloodshot.

“It’s true,” she says dully. The sound of her own voice startles her and she looks away, not waiting for the answer she already knows.

“Yes.”

“How long?”

“Just one night.” He pauses, exhaling heavily, hand rising to scrub at his face. “Last month. In Atlanta.”

Her head snaps up. His last business trip before his abrupt decision to retire. “You spent the weekend screwing another woman, then came home and told me you wanted to move in with me?”

“Yes. Because it was a mistake. I knew I fucked up and I was trying to fix it.”

There's something almost too careful about his tone, some subtle hint of _you're overreacting_ and all at once her sorrow gives way to anger. To _fury_ . How could he _do this to her?_

“Get out,” she says coldly.

“Diane, please just listen. It had nothing to do with you, with us, our marriage. I _love you_.”

Fury merges with incredulity. “Nothing _to do with me_?”

“No! It was just...I don’t know.” He mouths words without speaking, then shakes his head, impatient or maybe just afraid. “I was hanging out with a bunch of people I got around with years ago. She was one of them. I had a few drinks; I don’t know. What does it matter? It was just sex.”

“Just sex?” She’s become the incredible echoing woman, too furious, too _aghast_ , to express original thought.

She rises, brushes past him to the other side of the bed, putting as much space between them as she can within the confines of the room. Something in the movement frees the words from her brain. “Can’t you see, Kurt? Can’t you see how that makes it worse? You hurt me, you broke your vows to me, for something that _didn’t even matter to you?_ ”

He blinks, hand slipping from his pocket to gesture his confusion. “What, it would be better if I were in love with her?”

“No! Maybe. At least then you wouldn’t have thrown me away for _nothing_ .” Her voice cracks on the last word and she turns to face the wall as she’ll be _damned_ if she’s going to cry in front of him.

She senses his approach and tenses, trying to shrink so far into herself that he’ll never be able find her. She feels the disturbance in the air as his hands rise to her shoulders, pause, then fall away without touching.

“It wasn’t like that,” he whispers. “I would never throw you away. I don’t know how to explain it. I love you, and I love our life, our marriage. But I wasn’t thinking about that when it happened. I just...I was just being the guy I used to be. Before.”

Images flash through her mind, memories of the rare, unfailingly awkward evenings spent in dark, hole-in-the-wall bars with his gun enthusiast friends. Country music and tables laden with beer bottles. She had always been hopelessly out of place in that world. She removes herself from the pictures and adds in Holly.

She wants to vomit.

“I’ll never see her again,” he swears fervently. “I’ll never leave your side again if that’s what it takes. Just please, please, Diane. You have to forgive me.”

_Shecan’tshecan’tshecan’tshecan’t not now not ever_

Her arms rise to wrap around her middle, a desperate attempt to hold herself together. She grits her teeth to hold down the scotch inching its way back up her throat.

“Go,” she forces out. She doesn’t recognize her own voice.

“Diane, I…”

“Go!” she shouts, turning now, letting him see the wreckage he’s caused. “Get out, get out, I can’t look at you!” She _is_ shaking now, falling into pieces where she stands and if she has to physically push him from the room she will, because she can’t. She can’t. She can’t do this.

His eyes widen briefly, then close. He inhales, visibly fighting for composure and when he opens his eyes again, they meet hers fully for the first time since he took the stand that afternoon. The pain she finds there is palpable and for a moment, madly, she wants to comfort him, to go to him, hold him and tell him not to worry, that everything will be okay.

But of course, she can’t do that either. She looks away.

“Please, Kurt, just go.” She turns away, walks back to the loveseat, picking up her glass from the side table and drains it.

When she turns around again, she’s alone.

Somewhere below, the front door closes with a dull thud.


End file.
